Moonlight kissed the fine line of her collarbone, which led to the V-neckline of her shirt.
Danica was dressed in a white shirt, its full sleeves falling loosely at her wrists. A black corset cinched tightly around her waist and chest, revealing only a quarter of the ivory fabric at the top and bottom. Black tailored trousers, a small black bag, and pointed heels completed her semi-formal look.
She adjusted the matching white strap circling her throat and lifted her gaze to the gleaming letters La Belle Vie crowning the elegant blackish-grey structure that was grand enough to pass for a sumptuous palace.
The moment Danica stepped into the restaurant, the concierge greeted her with a smile a little too wide to be sincere.
"This way, ma'am," she cooed in an overly polite tone, gesturing toward the elevator on the right.
Something about the evening and the place felt wrong.
Behind the woman, a pane of transparent glass separated the dining area from the restaurant's expansive foyer. That was where he was supposed to be waiting.
But Alfred was nowhere in sight.
The realization stacked rapidly, thought after thought, until the truth crystallized. The restaurant was empty. There was no one except her and the concierge.
"Ma'am?" The saccharine voice snapped Danica's attention away from the dining area.
Heat rushed to her face as awareness set in.
Was she already looking for him the way an old lover might, after a thousand years of waiting? Sheesh.
Danica shook it off, crushed the analogy along with any trace of softness, and followed the concierge.
The elevator opened swiftly; they stepped in, and the attendant pressed the last button on the panel. Danica's eyes widened a fraction. Were they heading towards the rooftop?
Who cared?
If the deal failed to justify her time, her energy, and the branded clothes she'd put on, she'd chew Alfred up and burn the entire godforsaken restaurant down for daring to insult.
After a mind-numbingly slow ascent to the eighty-ninth floor, the elevator finally opened to the top floor, and time froze for a single, breathless moment.
Dark raspberry-colored tables stretched across the space, adorned with delicate glasses and pale napkins that were arranged with care, while a dark, static bar loomed, stocked with every imaginable liquor. But it all dissolved into dark smears of black and magenta, irrelevant and distant, as her gaze anchored itself to the man standing by the railing ten feet away.
Tall, clad in a black shirt and burgundy waistcoat.
Him.
His broad back faced her, attention fixed on the glittering city and its restless nightlife below. Low-fi music hummed through the air, while warm white light washed over him, and her body answered in ways she didn't care to acknowledge. She became acutely aware of the width of his shoulders, the stillness in his stance, the space he occupied without effort.
She noticed it all. Hated it all.
Danica instinctively tightened her grip on her purse strap as memories of their last encounter flooded the thin veins of her brain. The moment carried the same intoxicating shape and form—breathtakingly real, nauseatingly charming.
But this time, there were no justifications waiting outside, no urgent business she could use as a shield. She was trapped in the moment with him.
"Let's get over this," Danica muttered, more command than complaint.
She buried the irrelevant details of him, the remnants of that foolish fairytale meeting, and ate up the distance separating them.
The click of her heels sent a jolt through Alfred, disorienting his thoughts. He finally turned and found his woman advancing toward him with menace burning in her midnight eyes and practiced indifference in her gait.
Mia Rosa. He mused silently while his grey eyes catalogued every inch of her.
Alfred drew a sharp breath, as though the air itself wasn't enough when it came to her. He ached to trace her collarbone, whisper filthy things just to see her blush, rake his hand through her black hair, and then seize it and worship the wet heat between her thighs like he'd found something holy.
But distance stood between them, cruel and immovable.
Too much fucking distance.
It stretched and chipped away the ache until it became unbearable.
He was already moving as she got closer, sliding the chair out for her with effortless control.
"Let's dive straight into the business deal." She said once settled in her seat.
A faint crease formed between Alfred's brows.
Her words screamed urgency. It was clear that she wanted to bolt as soon as possible, just like before. But he wasn't going to let that happen.
Not when he'd arranged this entire evening around a selfish desire to have her close. Close enough to hear her voice, bask in her scent, and savor her intoxicating presence that threatened what little sanity he had left.
And he was going to make sure she did what she always tried so hard to avoid—stay.
"Sure, we can," Alfred said, his voice emerging deep, almost rough, threaded with unmistakable reverence, "but that would disappoint my friend Romain, who's been waiting rather eagerly for us to indulge in his signature fusion cuisine."
"Romain Valcourt?" The name slipped out as Danica blinked twice.
He nodded with all the calm of the universe.
That made no sense. She had to be mistaken. Romain Valcourt was a legend, an elite French chef whose mastery reshaped the culinary world, whose shows captivated millions, and whose restaurants ruled half of North America and most of Europe.
That Romain was waiting to serve the two of them? Fucking impossible.
"He's your friend?" Danica kept her face neutral and flawless. Her voice, however, didn't follow orders.
The faint curve at the corner of Alfred's lips told her everything she needed to know. One, he wasn't teasing. Two, her disbelief, painted in vivid shades of yellow and red, had clearly amused him.
She despised the latter part the most.
Alfred snapped his fingers, and two servers appeared instantly, trays of steaming dishes balanced with practiced ease.
Danica was still processing the magnitude of his influence when appetizers appeared and a bottle of Blanc de Blancs was uncorked. Glasses were tilted, and pale liquid was poured with precision, while another server arranged warm brioche and ama-ebi tartare with ceremonial grace.
"It's my pleasure," a refined American-French lilt broke her attention from the spread before her.
She turned immediately toward the voice in acknowledgment, while Alfred took his time in relishing every rapid change in her expression, the sharp intelligence in her gaze, and the eagerness she tried and failed to conceal.
A low chuckle escaped him when her eyes widened a fraction and she stared at Romain as if he were a bizarre species from Mars.
"Adorable, Rosa," He muttered, and the image of pressing a kiss to her forehead settled warmly in his mind.
Romain stepped closer to their reserved table, finishing the statement, "to welcome you both to my paradise, La Belle Vie."
Cinnamon brown hair with a side-swept fringe cut, cool hazel eyes, a strong jaw, and a wide forehead. Valcourt was more charming than he appeared on the screen. Confidence and pride hung like an accolade on his shoulders.
There had once been a time when she'd scribbled dining at Valcourt's famous restaurant onto a wishlist. Back when it had seemed impossibly out of reach. Back when she was still clawing her way to the cold, polished, and cutthroat crown of a billion-dollar skincare company.
She had forgotten all about the list and the tiny, hopeful wish she'd once considered so important. Life had a way of swallowing such things. But at this moment, the memory returned with startling clarity.
And Alfred, without meaning to, had reached into the neglected hollows of her psyche and touched a part of her she rarely acknowledged. He'd fulfilled a dream of a twenty-year-old girl, who was still breathing somewhere behind the closed doors of her heart. It was almost embarrassing.
Was she going to share that revelation with either of them?
Not a chance in hell.
Not even if the world ended tomorrow.
"I have arranged an American-Japanese fusion menu for the two of you," Valcourt said, drawing her attention back to the conversation. "Personally, I can't imagine a better pairing for tonight."
The whole thing felt suspiciously romantic for what was supposed to be a business arrangement. There was absolutely no reason to make the already nauseatingly warm air feel even thicker with unnecessary sentiment.
The longer she sat beneath the soft light, the quiet music, and the absurd fact that she was finally experiencing something her younger self had desperately wanted, the more aware she became of an uncomfortable sensation creeping through her.
It felt dangerously close to emotion. To vulnerability. To everything she'd fought to outgrow.
Danica took a measured breath, attempting to suppress the strange unease stirring beneath her skin.
She shifted her attention from the chef, who was still enthusiastically describing his cuisine, to Alfred.
Too bad. He was already looking at her.
And smiling.
As if he could hear every reckless thought running through her head.
As if he could see through every tiny crack that was forming in the walls she'd built around herself and was deliberately pressing his thumb into each one, just to watch her squirm.
The man had absolutely no shame and no fucking guilt.
Heat unfurled beneath her ribs, fierce and unsolicited, licking its way up her throat until it settled in her cheeks and colored them red hot.
Asshole. She reflected, pretending and failing to be irritated.
The eye contact was supposed to be brief, fleeting, and nothing more.
Instead, she found herself trapped in the storm of his greyish-black eyes. The type that looked at you and somehow stripped away every lie you told yourself.
She couldn't look away.
Couldn't breathe properly.
There was something predatory in them. Something that made her feel hunted.
She loathed the effect he'd had on her.
She hated how his mere presence wormed all kinds of idiotic sensations out of her.
Hated how effortlessly he pooled into her veins like a beautiful disease and made himself comfortable in places he'd never been invited into.
It made her want to stab him and tore apart that dickish, all-knowing smile just to feel in control.
Danica didn't lower her eyes. That would be equivalent to laying down arms in surrender, an admission of weakness.
And she would rather choke on her own pride than hand him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her.
Alfred met the fiery irritation and glacial indifference in her eyes with equal intensity of reverence, want, and an obsession so naked it felt almost indecent.
Their staring game fevered to a point where the world around them ceased to exist, dissolving into a haze of charcoal smoke and shadows. The music, the voice of Valcourt, and everything else waned away until only they remained. His eyes held hers captive; hers challenged him right back.
Neither of them blinked.
Neither of them looked away.
One reason. Danica thought, drilling her gaze into his. Give me one goddamn reason and I will reduce everything you are to something unrecognizable. To ash. To memory. To nothing that ever had the audacity to make me feel like this.
Alfred's gaze darkened by the slightest degree. Let me in, baby. Show me the monsters and miracles that live inside you. Give me anything and everything. I'll take whatever scraps you're willing to offer if it means closing the distance between us.
Seconds stretched into minutes before Alfred finally broke the silence.
"Thank you, Romain," he said, keeping his gaze still on Danica. "We would now like to resume our business meeting. If you could excuse us."
"Sure," Valcourt drawled, purposely reclaiming Alfred's attention from her. "Suit yourselves."
Danica sighed and glanced at Romain, who responded with a curt nod. He was about to turn and leave, but before that he mouthed something towards Alfred. Whatever passed between them was impossible to decipher.
Danica couldn't have cared less.
She was here to either seal the deal or destroy the man sitting across from her, not indulge in whatever cryptic shitshow the two of them were performing.
"You were as subtle as a sledgehammer, man." Valcourt murmured, shooting Alfred a sidelong glance.
"It's none of your business." Alfred supplied, almost inaudibly. "So fuck off."
"Sure. I don't particularly want to end up in a church confession booth, telling a priest I watched my friend look at Danica Clarke as though she were dessert and he'd been fasting for a month."
Alfred pinned him in place with a piercing look that suggested he wouldn't hesitate to murder him with the same butcher knife, which was used moments ago to prepare the meal.
Interpreting the look as a very clear fuck off before I stab you message, Romain flashed Alfred an amused grin and wisely left the room.
Once his friend was out of the scene, he returned his undivided attention towards the woman who was sitting across from him and watching him with the same enthusiasm that a person has when they deal with unwanted bugs at three am.
Her expressions were the altars, and he was a saint ready to burn for them. They swelled the places in him that belonged to her, making him lose his edge and smile like an idiot under her spell.
Did she know how devastating she looked with that sultry scowl between her elegant brows? So fucking lovable. I wanted to fold it inside me and never let it breathe.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of his ever-growing madness.
"What's so funny?" Danica inquired pointedly. "Or are you simply enjoying wasting my time?"
"Not particularly." A smile tugged at his lips. "Though I do find something here rather adorable."
She gestured around the table. "And what exactly is so adorable about this? The food? The décor?"
"Mia rosa, if I wanted to admire the food, I'd be looking at my plate."
Danica should have stopped there, but she didn't. A question escaped her before she could shove it back down her throat.
"Then what are you looking at?"
The smile on his mouth shifted into something that made her immediately regret asking.
"Isn't that obvious?" He said. "You."
For one horrifying moment, Danica's heartbeat ceased, stealing the air from her lungs. Then it lurched back to life with brutal force, slamming against her ribs like a beast desperate to escape its cage.
Hate, pleasure, disgust, and perilous intrigue collided inside her, tangling into a violent storm so overwhelming that her mind went numb, stripping her of any suitable reply.
The audacity of this man, she thought bitterly, heat creeping up her neck as she struggled to ignore the havoc coursing through her.
Before the emotions raging through her could gain a stronger foothold, Danica let out a dry scoff. As if it were the only thing that could keep her grounded in her terrifyingly dark, detached, and fucking cold personality.
"I must have missed a paragraph in your email," she said. "The one explaining how a purely business meeting would involve flirting, absurdly good food, and a soundtrack seemingly curated for people about to fall in love."
"So you think I went through all this trouble merely to engineer a date with you?"
"I am not thinking. I am seeing, breathing, and suffering through it as if it's a fact."
"Unfortunately for me, it's just a poorly constructed fact in your mind." He smiled. "Everything here screams business from all sides and in all ways."
Danica raised one of her elegant obsidian-colored eyebrows in response. "Romantic music?"
"It's background noise."
"The candlelight?"
"Mood lighting."
"The gourmet food?"
"Client hospitality."
"Are you suggesting that I am delusional as fuck?"
"No. In fact, I am delusional as fuck to believe that I can have you right here on the table, break you open in ways you've never felt, and lock you to me forever."
Danica's eyes ballooned as her heart went wild and her insides twisted into a brutal knot, setting her skin on fire. A thought of butchering him flared hot in her skull, but before she could even execute that thought—
"In another universe, of course," he covered up, taking a sip of champagne.
The monster in him, the one that only she had the particular talent of provoking, pressed against its leash. He acknowledged it quietly, hated it a little, and cherished it more.
"Not in any universe," Danica emphasized. "I am too valuable, too gorgeous, and too powerful to be anybody's date."
He tipped the corner of his mouth, slow and certain. "You're right. You are far too valuable to be just anybody's date. Which is why I have no interest in being just anybody."
There it was.
Another flirtatious jab.
Another piece of evidence supporting the increasingly obvious conclusion that meeting Alfred in person had been a catastrophic mistake.
"You've wasted thirty minutes of my time on pointless things like dates, food, and music. That tells me everything I need to know about how interested you are in actual business."
Danica impatiently stood up and added in a curt voice. "I am not at all investing my money and my resources in businessmen like you. So enjoy the night. While you are at it, feel free to shove every one of your plans straight up your ass."
While she was consumed by rage, he watched her with infuriating calm, as though every spark of her temper was another piece of hers he wanted to understand, unravel, and claim.
"And be ready for the consequences," Danica gritted out. "By tomorrow, your company, your precious empire, and every illusion of power you've wrapped yourself in will be gone."
With every nerve in her body screaming for distance, Danica threw him a final glare and headed for the exit.
"Your latest skincare venture needs a serious R&D backup," he emphasized, almost unbothered.
The words sliced through her, stopping her dead in her tracks.
Alfred pushed to his feet, straightening his cuffs. "More financial buffers and a gold marketing collab."
She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing composure into every fractured piece of herself. The slow, heavy cadence of footsteps drew her attention, and she flew open her eyes.
When she turned, Alfred was already approaching. Every measured stride seemed calculated, his dark gaze fixed solely on her, making the space between them feel dangerously small.
"Without that," he said, drawing nearer until his presence became impossible to ignore, "an idea capable of changing everything stays exactly what it is, an idea."
Only a few steps separated them now. His broad shoulders blocked every trace of light behind him, and for one dizzying moment, it felt as if he had devoured the entire room whole, leaving nothing but darkness, tension, and him.
The resentment clouding her mind dissolved without warning, replaced by something far more dangerous. Fascination.
Her eyes traced the rugged outline of his body, the burgundy fabric fitting him a little too well. She found herself wondering things she absolutely shouldn't be wondering, and the realization sent heat rushing through her.
Was he ripped?
In fact, I am delusional as fuck to believe that I can have you right here on the table, break you open in ways you've never felt, and lock you to me forever.
His words replayed like a loop in her skull, freezing her for a heartbeat. Then, as if punishment, a vivid image of Alfred bloomed to life: him naked, pleading at her feet with those hungry, needy eyes.
The image unsettled her more than it should have, and she immediately wished she could scrub it clean. She couldn't; instead, it left her wetter, hotter, and teetering on the edge of something primal she refused to name.
"You need Pitfur." The rich depth of his voice shattered the haze and anchored her back to the room.
Mortification crashed over her in black waves.
Danica yanked her attention away from the broad expanse of his chest, from the unfairly distracting shape of his body, and anchored onto his face instead.
This wasn't who she was.
She didn't fantasize about men.
She never had.
Except–
"You need me." He said it slow and hard, like a verdict.
She folded her arms and slaved her expressions into one of complete nonchalance, refusing to let him see how thoroughly he'd flustered her.
"Surely you're not arrogant enough to believe your company is my only option," she supplied, arching her eyebrow. "There are other pharmaceutical giants in this continent, Mr. Brown. You're not as indispensable as you'd like me to think."
"I'll make the deal happen." Danica advanced toward him, her gaze locked on his devil-may-care expression. "Just not with Pitfur."
Her lips curved into a cold smile. "I'll find a company that's actually capable of recognizing an opportunity when it sees one and one that doesn't waste my time playing games."
"Those competent pharmaceutical companies you have in mind: Medicos, Zerodex, and countless others," he said, taking another step closer. His eyes held the kind of confidence that bordered on dangerous. "They all work for me."
For a single, catastrophic second, the unwavering defiance in Danica's eyes dimmed. The sharp edges of her expression softened before she forced the walls back into place, colder and stronger than before.
"Fucking impossible." She hissed, almost incensed. "You're asking me to believe you've cornered an entire industry." Her jaw tightened. "But even the most convincing lies have limits."
Her remarks drew a quiet, unguarded smile out of him.
Christ, Mia Rosa, you are breathtakingly gorgeous when you get mad. Mad at me. As if I am the singular most maddening thing in your carefully ordered world.
Good. I wanted to be.
I wanted to be the one thing you couldn't file away and forget. Even if fury is all you are willing to give me.
Fuck.
"You're free to call every CEO on your list." Alfred tucked his hands into his pockets with effortless ease. "Though I doubt they'll entertain your proposal after you've so decisively dismissed an offer from their president. The man who signs their paychecks." A beat later, he added. "Me."
She could feel her blood boiling. Climbing degree by degree with every word that left his mouth.
Alfred. Brown. What a dickish name. She thought bitingly.
He stood there looking indecently blithe. A six-foot-four of ego, power, and dogged confidence. The man had the kind of God complex that should have been medically studied and the balls to act as though every outcome had already been decided in his favor.
There was no denying that she needed a strong ally, and she knew the clock was working against her. Every day that passed narrowed her options.
But there was a difference between being under pressure and being desperate.
Danica refused to blur that line.
Especially for Alfred.
While she battled between the idea of killing him or proving him wrong, he intently watched her and couldn't stop.
The way her jaw flexed with everything she refused to say. Those dark eyes burning with something violent and restrained and magnificent. Her lips pressed together like a door she was keeping forcibly shut. Every slow, measured breath was the only thing standing between him and whatever her inner monster was quietly lobbying for. He hoped it lobbied harder.
He saw it all.
He cherished every second of it.
And God help him, he wanted it to belong to him.
"Fine." She said at last, the words sounding reluctant even to her own ears. "One sentence. That's all you get. If I like what I hear, I'll consider the deal."
"Pitfur will handle it all. The resources. The logistics. The legal complexities. You focus on the vision, and I'll take care of the rest."
She stared at him in silence, her expression unreadable.
"What's your real motive, Alfred?" Her forehead creased. "Why do you want to help my company?"
He took another step. Just one. It was enough to reduce the space between them to something that could no longer be called safe.
The air between them shifted, becoming thick and charged with the quiet electricity of proximity neither of them had asked for and neither was stepping away from.
His cologne curled around her like a declaration. Cedarwood, mint, and something ineffably, devastatingly him. It wrapped around her senses and dismantled every remaining brick of wall that was withstanding.
She was too aware of him.
Of every inch of him.
Of the terrifying, evocative reality of his nearness.
But she was determined not to let him catch even the slightest glimpse of the betraying vulnerability that he unknowingly stirred inside her.
All Alfred would ever see was cold-blooded insensitivity, a frost-bitten heart, and impeccably hostile professionalism.
"I am a man of instincts." His words came out hoarse and unpolished. "It's like a siren. And no matter how clearly I see the rocks ahead, I will chase that call to the very end of the earth."
Danica drew a slow breath. Then another. As if the simple act of processing his words required more oxygen than the room was providing.
Was it what he had said that was doing this to her or the way he had said it? That raw, organic honesty coated in a voice that had no business sounding like that?
She genuinely couldn't tell. And if she were being truthful, she had no desire to find out.
His gaze traveled over her, tracing the elegant line of fabric at her throat, the tailored waistcoat hugging her bosoms, all the way to the heels clicking against the floor before returning to her face.
"That instinct is telling me," he continued, his voice still carrying that unfiltered, ravenous edge, "that I should help you. Your company." A pause that stretched just long enough to mean something. "Because if I don't–"
He stopped. Something moved across his expression. Something raw and unfinished. He swallowed it whole and left the silence to say the rest.
Because then I lose you. Even the distant, hostile, barely tolerant version of you that I currently have access to. And I'd fucking ravage everything that I've built and everything that I am before committing such a sin, Mia Rosa.
"Then what?" she pressed.
"I might miss the chance of expanding the business venture."
Danica searched his face, looking for the catch. "I think I might seal the deal."
"You might?"
"Don't push your luck."
"I am not." He smiled lazily. "I'm simply understanding the math here. A might means you're considering it. And considering it is the closest you've come to saying yes."
"Too much optimism dulls instinct, Mr. Brown. Don't celebrate yet." Danica held her chin high. "Tell me about the profit split."
"That would be a forty-sixty ratio."
"That makes absolutely no sense." Danica's skepticism was immediate. "You're carrying the financial burden, assuming the legal risk, and providing the infrastructure. Yet you're settling for forty percent?"
"Like I said, something in me is telling me to take the chance, toy with the risk, and own it. So, I will."
"Hmm. Interesting." Danica tilted her head slightly. "But if I find out this empire you've been parading in front of me is built on half-truths and exaggerations…" She poked a finger against his chest. "I'll rip out whatever is responsible for those instincts of yours."
A cold smile curved her lips. "And call it a routine business audit."
"Gladly." He smirked as if she'd handed him the victory.
"The deal is sealed."
Alfred held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
"Thank you, Ms. Clarke." He added. "I think this calls for a grand launch party. Our teams should have the opportunity to meet before we begin building something extraordinary together."
Danica gave a curt nod. "Sure."
"Another suggestion." He tapped the back of his head thoughtfully. "If everyone already knows what's coming, where's the excitement in that? Why not make the whole thing a surprise?"
Her attention landed on his arms, the fabric of his shirt losing a quiet war against the muscle beneath, and something inconvenient ignited low in her stomach. Before it could take any other form or shape, she yanked away her eyes from his bicep. Almost violently.
Get it together, Danica. Right now. She reminded herself with more mental force than necessary.
"Sounds boring, but fine," Danica said, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. "I'll take my leave. We'll meet tomorrow."
"Tomorrow evening?"
"Tomorrow evening."
Alfred agreed and stepped aside, motioning toward the hallway with an elegant sweep of his hand. "After you."
She pivoted and walked for the hallway; he trailed after her, eager and unashamed, the way a well-trained lapdog follows its master.
A deafening silence charged with something primal and vicious restraint enveloped them as they entered the elevator and headed to the ground floor.
Alfred could sense the urgency in her stance, and the aloofness rippling off her in waves. She occupied the same air, the same space, the same suffocating proximity. And yet she felt entirely, devastatingly unreachable.
So close yet galaxies apart.
The more he dwelled on that thought, the more undignified desperation scalded his lungs, swelling him with unadulterated yearning until it choked the fuck out of him.
I know you are so eager to run away from me. From us. From whatever this is. He let his eyes trace the dark silk of her hair. But, baby, I am an excellent chaser. I will follow you to the end of time and space. Through the heavens. Through seven gates of hell. On broken knees or burning pride. I will still be right behind you.
Danica could feel the intensity of his gaze on the small of her back like a brand. Steady. Unrelenting.
She kept her attention forward, her jaw set, and refused to turn around. Because acknowledging and looking back would only drag those wild, ungoverned emotions back to the surface where she couldn't contain them. She had barely survived them once tonight.
Afraid that another minute in the elevator with him might push her patience past its breaking point, causing her to make an evil choice. The choice of shooting him in the elevator. Danica decided to opt for a mature decision: ignore him, pretend he didn't exist, and stay cool as fuck.
Ignorance was bliss and also significantly cheaper than therapy. That was precisely why she carried a gun in her expensive purse for two types of emergencies.
The first one involved situations that couldn't be ignored. The second was the one that could only be solved by permanently removing the problem from existence.
Unfortunately, Alfred Brown had inspired the creation of an entirely new category.
A third level of emergency.
One that involved him.
I hope I don't kill you someday, you man-of-motherfucking-instincts, Danica mused.